#Miles doesn't bother to lower himself while arguing

[avatarnarumitsu]

A helpful guide on human-Navi communication

[lu-undy]

Here we go, I think this is sensitive...spy doesn't want to touch his suit but honestly, he get trigger because of his dark past we all know spy is a good looking guy. Then sniper is always their for help in case spy was in danger

It took me a bit of time to understand your request but I think I finally did, sorry ^^! I hope this is what you expected.

"Good job today Spook!"

The battle had just ended.

"Well," The Frenchman crouched to use his enemy's tie to wipe his knife. "I believe I did what I had to quite beautifully indeed."

Sniper watched him do and rolled his eyes. The Frenchman had to be that pedantic, didn't he? Despite giving his back to his tall friend, the Frenchman knew that his little taunt to the enemy had its effect on his colleague and he couldn't help but smirk. 

"And thanks for savin' me from that bastard's knife." Sniper added. 

"My pleasure." 

The Aussie bent down to put his hand on his friend's shoulder. 

"Roight, let's go back to the base, mate-whot?!" 

As soon as his fingers touched Spy's jacket, the Frenchman sprang to his feet, spun around, his feet sliding effortlessly on the orange, dusty ground of the desert and he put his blade under his teammate's throat. 

"Do not, under any circumstances, whatever you think you might be doing, touch my suit." 

"Alroight… uh… Sorry, I-I'm sorry!" The Australian was petrified by both the way his colleague held him hostage and the sheer dread of what Spy was capable of doing. He had spoken slowly, his teeth gritted.

The Frenchman released him and without adding a word, he walked back to the base, leaving the Aussie there, as confused as a man could be. Sniper put a hand on his throat. 

Bugger, he would have slit my throat without a second thought… What the hell was that about…? Why? 

He raised his head and followed Spy with his eyes as he caught his breath.

Roight, better go back too. 

The sun had now gone and Sniper was in his van. He finished his sandwich and played with the toothpick that was holding the olive on top of it. His eyes crossed to look at it better. It reminded him of Spy's blade and the incident that had happened earlier. 

The sun had set and the van was dark. Sniper didn't mind it. On the contrary, it helped him gather his thoughts. He closed his eyes and rewinded the movie of the events, trying to understand what he did to startle his colleague that much and make him react in such a brutal way.

No, there was absolutely nothing he had done wrong. And it was the end of the battle too so it couldn't be that Spy thought he was the enemy spy in disguise… He had just killed him anyway! Nothing made sense and Sniper opened his eyes again in the dark blue of the night. 

The only light source was the ones coming from the base and a nearby lamp post in the street, the only one for miles around. 

Bugger… 

Sniper put the toothpick between his teeth and chewed on it while his thoughts raced. 

They were good friends, bloody hell! Spy and Sniper were good friends! What could drive the Frenchman to do what he did…? What on Earth prompted that reaction after the days they had spent together, sometimes in Spy's smoking room, sometimes in the van, on their way to town. Sniper had offered to drive his teammate there because he needed to buy some things while the Aussie himself needed some supplies of his own. 

No, after all that and even after what had happened a few days before, the way Spy looked at him… 

Sniper remembered it. They were sharing a cigarette and a drink in the Frenchman's room. Well, sharing wouldn't be correct as one was having a beer while the overly sophisticated other was sipping aristocratically on his wine. 

Truth be told, Sniper found the Frenchman handsome. And the way that he would behave, as if he was a King on Earth just got to him in a particular way. Of course, had the man in the suit just been arrogant for the sake of it, Sniper would have hated him, and to be totally honest, he did at the beginning. But the long van drives through the desert, the conversations they shared, the anecdotes, the banter in a word, the Australian had rarely experienced it with anyone else before. 

In a way, he saw through the suit to discover the man. And deep down - very deep down some might argue - the man was simple, in his own way. He led a life of minimum trouble, which Sniper could only understand. He interacted very little with anyone and kept himself to himself. 

But that day, after the cigarettes and the drinks, Spy had walked his guest back to the door and something happened. It might have been the alcohol, but Sniper liked to believe that it truly happened.

Spy had closed the gap with his friend and put his gloved hand on Sniper's vest, on his chest. He had looked up to the Aussie's eyes, and grinned. There couldn't be any mistakes, it was a sweet smile, it wasn't anything else, was it? Then the Frenchman's fair eyes slowly slid down Sniper's nose and stopped down at… his lips. 

The Aussie remembered it almost too vividly as his heart started pounding in his chest as it had done that day. Eventually, Spy lowered his head and diverted his gaze. He had opened the door and wished a good night to his blushing friend. 

Well, after today's incident, it was now settled. Sniper had let the alcohol imagine it all. Maybe it was what part of him wanted to see? They say alcohol makes you loosen up so much that you can end up in a bush behind the pub with a sheila you'd have never even looked at otherwise…! 

Sniper wasn't drunk. He was tipsy, happy, a bit more talkative and the alcohol was responsible only for the first. The two others, it was Spy's fault. The man in the suit just knew how to talk to him and make him slide in the conversation without Sniper feeling embarrassed or awkward. It just flowed. 

The Australian didn't realise it but he was smiling. 

A knock on the door interrupted his train of thought. 

"Sniper?" 

He heard the French accent and jumped out of his seat to open his door. 

"Hey, Spy." 

He had wanted to say Spook but part of him was unsure he had opened the door to his friend or his murderer. 

"My apologies if I am bothering you in your rest or in your sleep. May I have a bit of your time, please? I… I cannot sleep." 

Sniper raised a curious eyebrow but opened his door wider. 

"Sure, come in." 

Spy stepped in and Sniper closed the door after him. 

"I'll switch on the lights, sorry-"

"It won't be necessary. And actually, I would much prefer that you leave it as it is." 

"Oh, alroight. Uhm, sit down, yeah, want anything to drink?"

Spy sat down on the worn out couch. 

"Non, merci. I have drunk the equivalent of the Mediterranean Sea and my body cannot rest. Non, I need to talk to you." 

Sniper was standing next to his door. He couldn't get closer to Spy, not after what had happened. 

"I owe you all the apologies I can find."

Sniper frowned. His guest wasn't looking at him, he was staring at the ground, his elbows on his knees.

"I apologise for the way I behave earlier today. I shouldn't have. If that is any comfort, I have been incapable of eating and I can't manage to sleep because of it." 

"It… It's not good, Spy. You should have a bite of somethin'. You worked hard today." 

"Sniper, nevermind that for a moment. I need to talk to you seriously and explain myself."

It sounded painful for the Frenchman to open up so Sniper stopped him. 

"Mate, look, you don't have to explain anythin'. You were very clear and it's ok, I got it. I won't touch yer suit." 

"The suit is not the issue. And please, come sit next to me." 

Sniper hesitated. 

"You want to search me? I came unarmed." Spy stood up and opened his arms.

"You don't need anythin' if you wanna kill me."

"And if that's what I wanted truly, you would already be lying on the floor lifeless." Spy let his arms fall along his sides and looked up at his friend. "Please Sniper. You… You are the only one I can talk to." 

The Australian came closer to his guest and both sat down on the couch. 

"It's a bad memory. One day I got caught. It was decades ago now, in East Germany…"

Sniper listened without saying anything. 

"They set out a trap and young as I was, I fell in it. They captured me strapped me to a chair and did all sorts of torture to me. You think of it? They did it. Punched, kicked, cut, sliced and burnt, amongst other things. My body is scarred beyond what a human body is capable to withstand. Eventually, they stopped." Spy paused. "After my heart did." 

Sniper's eyes snapped wide open. He looked down at his friend sitting next to him. Spy was fumbling with his fingers, slowly yet one could clearly feel the tension in him, the tight throat and the sweat, as he was bringing back memories he wished were only a nightmare.

"When I woke up, I was on a hospital bed. Someone had found me and contacted an ambulance just in time. And it all started when a hand landed on my shoulder, from behind, the same way you did earlier today." 

The Australian now understood.

"Sniper, I am a dead man who by accident, happens to be alive."

"I-I'm sorry to hear that. I had no idea…" 

Spy put a hand on his eyes. 

"Non. There's nothing wrong with you. C'est moi. Since then I have been living like half a man because I had already been sent to the grave." 

[It’s me.]

"Spook, it's wrong. You're roight next to me, you're alive."

"Thank you for trying, Sniper. But non. I am already gone." 

The Frenchman stood up and headed for the door. 

"I said what I needed to."

Sniper leapt up and put his hand on the Frenchman's shoulder to hold him back. As he did so, he realised what he was doing but he was ready for it. He put his fingers on his friend's shoulder and screwed his eyes shut, frowning hard, feeling that something was coming but not knowing what exactly. 

Spy put his hand on the Australian’s and twisted his entire arm, locking it behind his back as he spun on his heels. It hurt so much that the Australian fell to his knees, groaning out of pain. 

"What are you doing?! You want me to kill you!? I told you!" Spy shouted angrily, looking down at his tall friend now strangely shorter than him.

"N-no you mongrel, I want to help you, argh-I'll, I'll help."

"You can't! Nobody can!"

"Yeah I can! Shut up and stop thinking that it's you versus the entirety of life! Argh, bugger, ah…"

"And what makes you think you can, hm? Are you God himself?!"

"N-no, ya piker, but I saw the way you looked at me before I went back to my van the other day - aaargh, God it hurts, nnh! - The way you looked up at me, I saw it! I-I know it wasn't the alcohol talking, you really looked at me that way - argh, please let me go-!"

The Frenchman's frown disappeared instantly and released his grip on the Australian. Sniper stood back up and stretched his shoulder slowly, making it turn one way and the other to make the pain go away.

"Also, you could have killed me… Or hurt me badly, and you didn't do it… Ouch… Twice in the same day now." 

In the darkness of the van, silence fell. 

"Now you can go away if you want. But I won't. You need help to drum some sense in that bloody head of yours. You're alive and what you're doing is just waitin' for the end to come if you live like that. But the Spook I spent my evenin' with the other day, he wasn't like that. He laughed and he joked around, we had some really good banter. And before I went away, do you remember what he did?" 

Spy held his head low and crossed his arms on his chest. He slightly nodded. 

"You couldn't sleep today because you nearly slit my throat but that day I couldn't sleep because of yer eyes and what you did before I left your room. Spook…"

Sniper closed the gap between them. 

"Go away."

The Frenchman raised his fair eyes that Sniper saw glistened in the dark. 

"Come on. Dare go away like the bloody mongrel you are."

Spy stared at his taller friend's eyes. He leaned forward until his head landed on Sniper's chest, under his chin. He took the panes of his collar and held on to them dearly in his gloved hands. The Australian smiled and laced his arms around the poor man's sides, holding him in a dear hug. 

"Merci et pardon."

[Thank you and sorry.]

"It's nothing."

[nighttimelights-prompted]

UF!Sans x reader arguing because Red has feelings towards the reader, but refuses to act out on it because he's afraid that he'll ruin/taint them, therefore trying to distance himself from the reader (who he was once close with), although the reader doesn't know why Red's pushing them away, therefore starting an argument. (I'm really sorry if there's anything about this that doesn't make sense, I worded it oddly)

(not to worry, i think it made perfect sense! though i suppose we’ll see if i interpreted the way you meant it. i’ve also got a couple more prompts in my inbox now, so thank you so much for those sweet people who sent in something! still open and accepting prompts and imagines, so let me know if you’d like something, ya cuties.)

(… and i suppose i would be remiss if i didn’t give a head’s up: prepare for at least a few feelings ahead. though perhaps someone would like to send in a follow up prompt with a way to continue/wrap this~?)

The low revving of your motorcycle was a purr compared to the gutteral roar that Red’s always held, but you still felt the blow of its noise in its loss when you cut off the engine.

Even when you tugged off your helmet, shaking your hair free quickly as you scanned the line of the rooftop above, the silence suffocated you. It was wrong, and every fiber of your being felt it; even in the dead of night, if you were here, your motorcycle parked alongside Red’s as it was now, the hilltop should be ringing with his brash, low laughter, curving around your own until the tears pooled at the corners of your eyes.

Heat prickled wetness at the corners now, but you blinked them away harshly as you caught sight of the bulky silhouette on a distant corner of the rooftop. You slung your leg over and dismounted, leaving your helmet propped on your bike. No one would steal it - there wasn’t another soul around for miles.

It was the quick work of minutes to find your way to the roof access ladder, grappling the side of it for the first 10 feet where the rungs were blocked by a locked safety panel. Your leather gloves gripped the edge of the building as you hauled yourself over, boot meeting concrete edging with the same confidence and anger you hoped you could hold up until he could get an earful from you.

Or a skull-full, you guessed.

It was naturally the opposite side of the building he was standing at. The bastard would’ve heard you coming for a mile, could’ve left if he wanted, but damn if he wasn’t still going to be just that much farther. You vaulted over the varying heights of the roof, easily avoiding the enormous dome of glass that sat over the gazing room. You let your anger fuel you, trying to focus on those roiling feelings and not the way you could feel your phone burning awareness in your mind from deep in your pocket, smoking figuratively with the echoing shots of your cracking heart.

“OY, RED!”

That’s it, let the anger keep your voice steady-

“WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”

You were almost on him now, the gentle light of the half-moon and stars silhouetting him and the roof in washed-out tones. The absurd fluff of his hood was spiked around his skull, his hands tucked into his pockets. The jacket actually looked… zipped up, for once. A small line of smoke drifted upwards from the line of fur.

“WHO- Wh-who do you think you are, sending me a goddamn text like that?” You reached his side at last, but quickly looked down to try and grasp at the anger draining out of you. “What kind of asshole leaves a text like that - ‘don’t bother textin me again, i’m done with this’? Out of fucking nowhere?” You resisted the urge to stomp your foot, but just barely. Instead you quickly grabbed at your phone, the leather of your gloves catching on your tight pocket for just a moment. You didn’t even bother unlocking it, but waved it towards him for extra effect. “You gonna give me some kinda explanation, or what?”

Sure, try and reason, that may hold back the prickling feeling in your chest. Your fingers gripped a little tighter at your phone as you waited for something from him.

You got a shrug.

“The fuck,” you said.

You got another shrug. The fluff seemed to stay a little higher this time at the end of the motion. Or was his head a little lower?

You bit down your inclination to swear again. “Red, c’mon man, give me something. If I did fuck up, fine, but I can’t figure it out or make it right on my own. Or is something going down? Why’re you pushing me away, after all the shit we’ve stuck through together?” Your voice cracked. Your mouth twisted in a grimace, but you didn’t try to restate it.

The twisting in your chest was only worsening with his silence.

It was a quick gambit you ran through some dark labyrinth in your mind in the next few moments. That stark first memory hit you - coming across him beat to hell and back in that alleyway almost a year ago, cornered by a handful of supremacist asswipes wielding knives and spiked bats, waving what you immediately recognized as a “Anti-Magic Security Affective Field of Energy” - AMSAFE, the shit had been named - and drawing closer, one of them raising their bat above their head. Red had wiped a line of glowing red liquid from his mouth and stood a little taller, and had grunted out a goddamned pun - “guess ‘m up to bat, huh?” - before you had slammed a stray pipe into the side of the bat wielder’s kneecaps. The chaos that had ensued ended with you slinging Red’s arm over your shoulders and hauling him to his favorite bar despite your judgement, the alley behind you echoing with “i’d offer to lend ya a hand, doll, but ya’ve got my whole arm already.” Fast forward to the next week, finding him in another alleyway, surrounded by a bigger group - then another week, again, before the next day you tracked him down through his flaming friend of a bartender and tried to get some answers. None of which you got, of course, but it ended in you getting his number, and vice versa - soon you were getting him human intel on the supremacists no monster could easily come across, which eventually spun into late nights spent trading jokes and stories, then meeting his terrifying and hilariously secret-sweet edgelord of a brother, then getting looped into movie nights with his handful of friends, and races under the rising moon through the hillside, and slow but growing insights into the hell they had all been through Underground as you leaned against his side, both your legs dangling off this very building, smoke drifting lazily between you-

“Give me… give me something, Red,” you said quietly, your voice strained.

He remained quiet and still for a few more moments, before shrugging again and twisting just a little further away from you.

“meant what i said, that’s fuckin’ all.”

You snapped.

In a blink, your hands were fisted in the fur of his coat. Your mind registered the plastic clatter of your phone striking the rooftop as you stepped to get in front of him.

“That’s fucking bullshit!”

Heat spiked at the corners of your eyes, but you ignored it.

He was taller than you by at least a few inches, something that normally made you feel a strange kind of safe and comforted, but right now it was just pissing you off as you tried to drag him down to no avail. “You’ve been acting weird for a few days now, and all I goddamn did earlier was send you a message asking if you wanted me to grab you a burger from Grillbz - and then, then you send me that-! After nothing, no signs! Hell, we just hung out this past goddamn weekend-!” Your face was already red, but you weren’t sure if you would’ve flushed further or drawn up tears faster if you lingered on the memory, on the way you had woken up on his couch, your head resting in his lap with one of his hands tangled gently in your hair, having slumped over at some point while watching Edge’s robot friend on TV. You refused to linger there though - no, your words were furious, but you were worried, the moment striking harsh and cold in contrast to your burning eyes, your reddened skin.

Not that you didn’t want to shake sense into him regardless of your concern, but if he would just explain, maybe you could knock that bit of sense into him and then end up laughing this off-

“finally got some time to think, that’s all. really was a bonehead to not acknowledge it sooner. we’re just different, too different.” His words were gravelly and plain. A clove cigarette, the same kind he had switched to some six months ago, hung from his teeth. The smell was almost nostalgic; coupled with the setting and the way his hood caught the distant light of the night sky, it dropped stones into your gut as you better caught his expression.

The twist to his mouth wasn’t the usual cocky smirk you had come to love more than you’d ever admitted. No, there was a wry sneer pulling his mouth to the side, just barely there.

It stabbed through you harder than his words.

“we had some alright times, i guess. but i’m done with it. done with ya gettin’ into tr- into knowing monsters an’ shit, shit that ain’t ever gonna work out. ain’t worth losin’ my head over.”

You finally registered the dead, dull light to his normally shining eyelights. Rather than a bright crimson, they were dimmed to a cruel crimson. Your grip slackened, but you refused to let go yet.

“Red, you’re - you’re full of shit. More than usual. Seriously, what the fuck is going on?” You tilted your head just slightly, your fists managing to grip a little again. Your brows had drawn down, and you swallowed to push away the rawness building in you.

One of his hands, broad and boney, swept upwards and brushed one of your arms away with frustrating ease. “i don’t wanna keep repeatin’ myself, here.” He closed his eyes and turned from you, wresting your other hand free as he pocketed his once more.

“I can protect myself, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you said, your voice scratching as the anger bubbled desperately in you.

He made a strange sound - you couldn’t quite see his face, and you couldn’t find the way to move your feet to get in front of him again. “yeah, sure. ya sure proved it.”

“... I know you’re better than this.”

The sound this time was a scoff, clear but for the muffle of his hood. “like i said, too different. ya won’t - wouldn’t understand.”

Your hands balled into fists at your side. Your cheeks chilled with a breeze that passed by, the line of tears running down them drying cold and tight.

“Yeah, I won’t lie. I don’t understand this, Red. I thought I got you, and I thought you got me… and y’know?” You laughed, once, short, choked. “I still think I do. So yeah, alright.”

You turned on your heel, the moonlight a gentle glow on one half of your face.

“We’re done, then, I guess.”

You didn’t wait for another response as you strode back across the rooftop.

Your motorcycle was alone in the parking lot by the time you reached it.

(... well, i warned you.)

(... anybody want me to continue this one? i might do a part two, leave me an ask if you’ve got something in mind or just a desire to find out what happens <3)